


Running Support

by doodledinmypants



Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: Gen, Humor, Survival, minor violence/injury, sometimes humans are scarier than zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 14:47:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doodledinmypants/pseuds/doodledinmypants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My submission for the Zombies, Write! fic exchange for collected-sports-bra.tumblr.com. Unbeta'd, so any mistakes are mine. I hope you like it! <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	Running Support

“Listeners, we may have mentioned at one point or another...”

“Multiple times.”

“... that Runner Five has an odd propensity for picking up sports bras. Now, I don't want to go so far as to say it's an obsession...”

“A fixation, perhaps?”

“... but it has become something of a running joke around Abel.”

“Eugene, did you just...?”

“Yes, Jack. I made a pun.”

“I love you.”

…

Never let it be said that the female runners in Abel Township didn't have enough support, at least when it came to proper sporty undergarments. Runner Five smirked triumphantly as another pack of sports bras went into the backpack. The abandoned department store was a treasure trove, and nearly all the sports wear was still clean and intact. Score. They needed bras of every size, as their runners were a diverse lot, and Five was happy to provide. Sure, it had become something of a joke among the other members of the township, but none of the female runners were complaining. Recently, Five had even branched out to picking up other requested undergarments-- maternity and nursing bras for the new mothers, various underpants, plus compression and support hosiery for those with medical conditions. Maxine was always grateful for the extra supplies. 

That said, there was an unofficial tally being kept of the numbers of sports bras that Runner Five collected. The numbers were in the hundreds already, enough for every female member of the township (not just runners) to have at least a couple of bras that fit correctly. The tally was impressive, and some of the other runners had taken it as a challenge. Though Five was the undisputed sports bra champion, each runner started specializing in specific useful items: batteries, toilet paper, tinned food, soap, weapons, and so forth. Tallies were kept in a margin on the large chalk board in the recreation room, which was also used for teaching the children their letters and numbers. 

As winter approached and nearby supplies dwindled, it grew more difficult for the runners to boost their collection numbers. Evan, Runner Seven and de facto leader of the runners, called a meeting to address this one chilly November morning.

“You've all noticed that our supply runs are coming up dry more often than not. We're not the only survivors scavenging in the surrounding towns, so it was only a matter of time before this happened. We have a few options: branch out on foot, or start using one of our working vehicles to take groups of runners farther down the roads. Either option is risky. Some of those territories haven't been explored yet, and we don't have access to as many CCTV cameras that far out. There's no telling who or what may be waiting for us.”

Simon raised a hand, but Evan cut him off before he could ask his question. “No, Runner Three, we are not going to stake flags out to claim the new territory for Abel Township.”

“No flag, no country,” Simon protested. He glanced around at the other runners to see who caught the reference, to scattered chuckles and eye rolls. 

“Are there any other questions?” Evan paused, giving Simon the side-eye, and amended, “Any serious questions? Good, I've put in the request for a vehicle. I want Runners Five and Eight on the first trip out to scout the new area, once we've settled on where we're going and how we're getting there. Continue with your regularly scheduled runs in the meantime. Meeting adjourned.”

Sara Smith, Runner Eight, elbowed Five in the ribs and grinned. “Looks like it'll be up to us to blaze a trail.”

Five nodded, but frowned. Where else could they possibly go? Most of the towns in every direction were still too overrun with zoms to bother foraging, not to mention the abandoned vehicles on the motorways making it nearly impossible to get a car through. It was starting to look as though they didn't have a choice, however. Despite the farm providing most of Abel's food now, they were still woefully dependent upon the scraps of fallen civilization for things like batteries and medical supplies. It was only a matter of time before those finite resources were tapped dry. If they were lucky, humanity would spring back before that happened. If they weren't, they'd have to adapt to life without little things like penicillin. 

At least there didn't seem to be any danger of running low on sports bras anytime soon. 

…

Janine approved the use of a car, and enough petrol to get them out of their usual running range and back safely. The plan was to drive as far south as possible, stop outside of a likely town, scout it, and then return. They were to pick up supplies as they went, as usual, but the focus was on getting a broad look at the area instead of stopping to investigate potential foraging spots. Zoms were to be avoided rather than engaged, and Evan told them to keep a tally. Despite the scarcity of ammunition, each runner was equipped with a gun. Their other gear was mostly standard: headsets, noisemakers, backpacks. Five had the headcam so that Sam could get a look at the town as well. Though the transmission range was spotty, the camera would record everything for later viewing regardless. 

The mission started out well enough. They were able to maneuver the car around a few blocked roads without getting stuck in the mud, and within the hour they'd pulled up outside a petrol station on the outskirts of a village. It was remarkably quiet, but not in an ominous way. Birds were singing, the wind rustled through the trees, and it was a beautiful day overall. The quiet was peaceful. The walking dead were nowhere to be seen.

“Well, that's odd,” Sara remarked. “Even in such a small village, you'd expect to see a zom or two shambling about. Perhaps they're all inside. Come on, Five. Let's have a look 'round.”

As they jogged down the main street, passing houses with dusty windows and an empty playground, Five began to grow uneasy. They hadn't even so much as seen a corpse yet, much less a moving one. Even in places where the zombies had moved on to better hunting grounds, there were signs of death. Not here, though. It was too clean. 

Slowing her pace, Runner Eight's gaze flickered between a hardware store and a small grocery. “Good places to start. I'll go left, Five, you go--”

A shot tore through the silence, and both runners dropped into low crouches on instinct. There was no Sam to warn them of an attack, this far out, or to tell them what to do. Thankfully, Sara was used to taking charge in situations like these. 

“Run!” she hissed, scrambling back the way they'd come. 

Five didn't need to be told twice. Legs pumping, they dashed back down the main street toward the car. Two more shots were fired, and Sara gave a muffled grunt as her body jerked. She stumbled, righted herself, and kept running. Five gave her a concerned look, but Sara just flapped a hand impatiently. 

When they reached the car, Five took driver's side and threw it into gear. They peeled away, tires screaming, and left the deceptively quiet little town behind. It was only when they were several miles down the road that Five looked to Eight and saw the damp, dark red patch blooming along her side. 

“No, don't slow down, don't stop,” Sara said, her voice tight with pain. “It didn't go in deep. I'll be fine. Just get us home.”

…

Five stood as Doctor Myers stepped out of her 'surgery', just another clapboard shack curtained off from the rest of the makeshift hospital. She peeled off the blood-smeared latex gloves and tossed them in a bin. Spotting Five, she gave the runner a reassuring smile. “Sara is going to be fine. The bullet came in at an angle, stopped at her ribs. It was just a surface wound, really. She'll be given some time off running until it heals, but she'll be able to walk out of here on her own steam.”

Tension drained from Five's body at the news, and Maxine chuckled as the runner sank back into the rickety plastic chair. “You should be proud of yourself. The shot might have gone much deeper... except Sara was wearing two sports bras. The extra material slowed the bullet down just enough.” 

A short bark of a laugh escaped Five. “Well,” said Five, “it's good to know I could provide some support.”


End file.
